


The Weight of a Feather

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Originals (TV)
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Elijah Mikaelson, BAMF Hermione Granger, Creature Fic, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dark, F/F, F/M, Horror, Hybrid Klaus Mikaelson, Hybrids, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Not Canon Compliant, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, POV Hermione Granger, Possessive Klaus Mikaelson, Protective Klaus Mikaelson, The Originals (TV) Spoilers, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29643789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In the wake of the Second Wizarding War, a new dark force rises. Fenrir Greyback and his pack are mounting a war that the Order are losing, in spite of help from werewolves who have broken rank. In desperation, Hermione Granger along with her new ally Tracey Davis, search far and wide for a way to win. Their quest finds them across the Atlantic at the mercy of the oldest family of immortals. They find themselves at the mercy of a suspicious hybrid, who holds the balance of the war in the weight of a feather, a drop of his blood.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Klaus Mikaelson, Tracey Davis/Hermione Granger
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19
Collections: Tag(line) You're It! Competition





	The Weight of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020) collection. 



> Written for the _Tagline, You're It_ Competition hosted by FaeOrabel, FirewhiskeySoul, and FeelingoftheSea.
> 
> Thank you all so much for hosting such an intense and exciting comp. Thanks also go to my amazing alphabet, who shall remain anonymous until the reveals for this competition.
> 
>  **Chosen Character:** Klaus Mikaelson
> 
>  **Director's Choice Prompts**  
>  **Tagline:** _To fight monsters, we created monsters - **Pacific Rim**_  
>  **Characters:** Hermione Granger, Tracey Davis

Hermione’s knees gave out as they landed on the paved ground. Transatlantic Apparition was not the brightest idea she ever had. She glanced beside her and noticed that Tracey had collapsed in a heap on the dusty floor. Panicking, Hermione crawled over to the dark-haired ex-Slytherin and checked her over for injury.

“Fucking hell, Granger! Are you one screw short?” Tracey snarled, the remark giving Hermione a short burst of relief. If Tracey could hurl insults, then she was perfectly fine. “That was the most reckless thing you’ve done yet.” Hermione did not respond, she knew it was dangerous, but she could not just walk into the Department of Magical Travel and request a Portkey. Not since the uprising. Hermione had also learned not to take Davis’s hostility personally, especially at that time in the month. Reassured that Tracey was uninjured, Hermione’s eyes darted around them, taking in their surroundings.

They seemed to have landed in a large atrium. A water fountain stood to the left of them, the water glittering like silvery fairy dust in the waxing light of the moon. Surrounding them were three stories of rooms, with a cast-iron staircase in one corner and balconies overlooking the courtyard. It seemed like the place had been left to nature, with vines twining around the metal and weeds growing from cracks in the walls. Hermione did not trust how exposed they were and signalled for Tracey to get behind her so that they were back to back. If what she had read about the Mikaelsons was true, they may as well have walked straight into the wolf’s lair.

“Hello ladies, may I help you?” A male British voice drawled from above them. Hermione’s head snapped up to see a tall man walking across one of the balconies toward the staircase. “Only, I don’t think you know how dangerous it is to drop into my family home unannounced,” he hissed. Hermione was sure that she saw his sea-blue eyes flash amber. She had known Tracey’s to do the same when she was particularly angry but hers were more golden, not as warm.

Hermione, brash Gryffindor that she was, stepped forward. “We’re looking for Klaus Mikaelson.” The man’s blue eyes narrowed in wariness. “We have come a long way and we need to speak to him, urgently.” 

She could hear the panic rising in her voice, as she suddenly became frantic. What if she had got it wrong? What if he was not what she thought he was? What if he was everything she had read and more?

 _I did not survive Voldemort and Fenrir Greyback for my life to end in this run-down colonial home in New Orleans_ , she thought fiercely.

Suddenly, the man stood directly in front of them, arms crossed, chin tilted up. “Why, pray tell, would I help you?”

That confirmed her suspicions. And he had a point. It was not his fight, after all, and he had people to protect just as she did. As though hoping that an answer would appear from thin air, Hermione’s eyes darted about the atrium once again. Her brow crinkled slightly when she saw a tall figure in a suit stood at the doorway of one of the bedrooms. The man seemed to be scrutinising the unfolding scene with interest.

Tracey growled from over her shoulder, “Fuck’s sake, Granger, I thought Gryffindors got to the point quicker than this. We need your blood.”

Klaus’s gaze snapped from Hermione to the woman beside her, “I apologise, were you under the impression I was talking to you?” he snarled.

Tracey growled back, her own eyes flashing gold.

“Please,” Hermione whispered, from what she read of the Mikaelsons, and Klaus in particular, they were not known to be merciful. “You’re our last hope,” she was ashamed of how pathetic she sounded as her voice cracked on the final word.

Klaus did not seem moved, still standing in a defensive stance. “And why is that?”

 _Merlin_ , where did she begin? Did she start at the Second Wizarding War? It would likely be easy to describe the tentative peace that the Wizarding World had for a few years. But how to explain that hundreds of people, including the witch beside her, were turned into werewolves by Fenrir Greyback and his pack? Hermione’s gut clenched at the memory of the appalling treatment of werewolves in the aftermath of the war. And then came the uprising, led by Fenrir himself. Some werewolves, like Tracey, broke rank and came to the Order’s side. But they were losing. How could Hermione express that she had been researching _anything_ that may help? It was not until she had come across reports in an obscure text in the Black Family library referring to a family of immortals that she had let herself believe it could be over. When she had found a grimoire that referred to a man ‘born and made of two beasts’.

Tracey, clearly impatient at Hermione’s lack of response, spoke up, “What do you know about the Wizarding World?”

That seemed to have piqued the interest of the man in front of them, he quirked an eyebrow and unfolded his arms from across his chest, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them. He examined them carefully for a moment, before walking over to a small bar in the opposite corner of the courtyard. He poured himself a large measure of whisky before turning back to them, “Bourbon? I would hate to be known as an inconsiderate host.” They accepted and they all took a seat at one of the sofas, Klaus lounging in a large armchair. 

“So, you’re witches?” asked the figure who had been observing from above. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeves absently, “What brings you so far from home?"

* * *

They spent the entire night in intense conversation. Hermione was not sure why Klaus had agreed to listen to them, but she was grateful that he had. She thought it may have had something to do with Elijah, the brother who had calmly observed them from an upper deck of the balcony when they had arrived. 

When the courtyard was filled with the warm golden glow of daybreak Klaus set his crystal glass on the table beside him. “Well, I think that’s enough for one night.” He stood so swiftly that Hermione had barely seen, “I may be immortal but I presume the two of you would require some sleep. Come.” 

Klaus beckoned for them to follow him up the flight of stairs, “You may stay here for tonight,” he gestured to a large, ornate bedroom, “and for the duration of your stay. I hope you find it to your satisfaction.”

Both witches nodded, being used to sleeping on forest floors. Tracey and Hermione had worked together a lot since the uprising, often being paired off in missions. With that, the women had quickly broken down barriers around modesty. There were many nights where Hermione found herself tangled with the other woman to shelter from the cold. Each in their knickers and vest top, they slipped under the white sheets of the large plush bed to get comfortable.

“I don’t trust him,” Tracey whispered. She was facing Hermione, hands tucked beneath her pillow. Her long, dark hair was splayed around her in an inverse halo and not for the first time Hermione was struck by how beautiful the woman was.

“I know,” Hermione sighed. “I’m not sure I do either,” she admitted. “And even if I did, I’m not sure how sure I am that the ritual works. But we don’t have any other choice.”

“Yeah,” Tracey murmured. They lay in silence for a while, staring at each other. Hermione saw something flicker over Tracey’s clear blue eyes that looked like triumph. “I could let him turn me first,” she said eventually.

Hermione had thought of that, of course. How could she not? Tracey was a werewolf already, which would mean that turning her into a hybrid would be easy. But she was not sure how to feel about the idea. What if something went wrong? “I… I’ve grown used to having you around, Davis. If the change didn’t take…”

Tracey’s icy blue depths searched Hermione’s face for something, “I know the risks, Granger,” she said, softly. She removed one of her slender hands from under the pillow to cup Hermione’s face, “Let me be the brash one, for once.”

The intensity in Tracey’s gaze made Hermione’s breath hitch, “Okay,” she breathed. 

Tracey’s cool thumb stroked her jaw tenderly. Hermione was suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were, and how little clothing they were wearing. The air around them suddenly felt heavier, more charged. Hermione relaxed into Tracey’s tender caress, her eyes fluttering shut. She heard the sheets rustle and the weight of the bed shifted slightly. Hermione’s eyes snapped open when she felt Tracey’s breath fan over her face. Their noses were almost touching but Tracey hesitated, her eyes holding a question. Whatever she saw in Hermione’s chocolate brown orbs must have been the answer she had been looking for.

Tracey leaned forward and captured Hermione’s lips with her own. Hermione had never kissed a woman before, at least not like this. She was surprised at how soft the dark-haired woman’s lips felt beneath her own. Pliant and supple, where a man’s were resistant and firm. The kiss was gentle and sweet, full of promise. Hermione slid nearer Tracey, wrapping one arm around her trim waist. Heady from breathlessness, she broke the kiss to see Tracey’s eyes stir from gold to bright blue before she rested her forehead against Hermione’s.

“I’ll ask Klaus to turn me when we wake up,” Tracey said breathlessly.

Hermione nodded, unable to speak, not willing to move from the embrace.

* * *

Everything had been a blur after that night. Tracey had been turned into a hybrid successfully, solidifying hope that their war could be won. Hermione had worked with Freya, Klaus’s witch sister, to create a modified ritual. They spent much of their time locked in the crypt to perfect the spell. Hermione would be able to turn the werewolves aligned with the Order without the blood sacrifice element of the original hex. It drew on the Ancestors of the witches in the French Quarter and some obscure spell that Hermione had found in the Hogwarts library.

Hermione was preparing to return to England, gathering the last of her belongings when a knock came at the bedroom door. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at her visitor. She saw the gibbous of the waning moon high in the sky.

“Freya!”

“Hey,” the blonde witch said. “I wanted to catch you before you left.”

“Oh, I don’t think we will be leaving for another hour or so.”

“I know, I just wanted to give you something,” Freya showed Hermione a talisman on the end of a chain. Hermione noticed that the talisman was in the shape of a blue cat, much like those said to have pulled the witch’s namesakes’ golden chariot. “The chain is enchanted,” the other woman explained. “It’s one of the strongest binding spells I could find, only you can remove the necklace of your own free will. And if you are ever in trouble touch this,” she said pointing to the pendant, “and say _vitminnr vinr; secure ór vinr_.”

“ _Vitminnr vinr; secure ór vinr_ ,” Hermione repeated.

Freya nodded, assured that Hermione understood, “Day or night, years or weeks from now if you ever feel alone this will bring you to friends.”

Hermione furrowed her brows in confusion but before she could ask anything, Freya disappeared into the balmy night.

* * *

A year had passed and victory was within their grasp. Fenrir and his pack were defeated with the help of the new hybrids. Hermione had truly, naively, believed it was over. And then suddenly, mid-battle, everything had changed. 

The massacred bodies strewn across the ground glowed in the silvery moonlight. Hermione’s hand grasped her wand so tightly that her knuckles were white. She barely noticed the dull ache in her shoulder that told her she would be in agony when the adrenaline wore off. The pain of betrayal in her heart burned hotter than any other.

“How could you?” Hermione choked. She refused to look to her left where she knew the mangled bodies of Ginny and Ron lay. She backed away from the menacing figure in horror. 

The sneer on Tracey’s face was cold and sharp. Hermione could not reconcile this with the softness she had woken up to so often in the golden morning light. “I thought you were the brightest witch of our age.”

Blood dripped from Tracey’s chin as she spoke, her usually clear blue eyes glowing gold. Hermione slipped and fell backwards, her hand landing in something sticky. “What changed, Tracey?”

“Nothing,” the dark-haired witch snarled. “Did you _really_ believe everything?” In moments, Tracey was in front of Hermione, crouching over her.

 _How is this the same woman I spent the last year with?_ Hermione thought.

“Do you know how powerful I am now? The power _you_ gave me,” Tracey taunted. “I am the most feared creature of them all now, and you gave me a pack.”

Hermione’s stomach dropped like a stone. She was right. Hermione had handed Tracey the opportunity for world domination on a silver platter. And still… and still she could not raise her wand to the woman in front of her. The last year had meant a lot to Hermione. 

_Was it all really nothing to her?_

Tracey's laugh sent a shiver down Hermione’s spine. It was feral and predatory, completely unlike anything she had heard from the other witch before. Hermione was taken back to being captured by the Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor all those years ago. She could almost smell the stench of Fenrir’s hot breath. Hermione scrambled away from the hybrid but Tracey was too fast. Supernaturally fast.

The moonlight glinted off Tracey’s extended teeth as she grinned at the witch held fast in her grasp. Hermione’s blood-curdling scream echoed around the night air as Tracey sunk her teeth into her neck. Reflexively, Hermione swiftly cast a blasting hex at the creature, releasing herself from Tracey’s grip.

She reached to her neck for the talisman she had been gifted the year before by Freya and whispered the incantation the other witch had taught her.

In a flash of blue light she landed in a familiar courtyard before her knees gave way.

Strong arms wrapped around her just as she was about to hit the ground.

“Klaus?” she croaked.

“Hello, little lioness,” he spoke gently. Hermione was finding it hard to keep her eyes open from the blood loss and the Transatlantic travel. “Elijah!” he yelled over his shoulder.

“Hurts,” Hermione mumbled, eyelids drooping.

“Stay with me, love,” he whispered. “Freya!” Lights danced behind Hermione’s eyelids.

That was when her world went black.

* * *

The smell of strange herbs filled Hermione’s nostrils. The air felt humid, almost oppressive around her. She lay still as she tried to clear the fog from her brain. The sheets over her were light and clean, the bed comfortable. There was a shuffling from the end of the bed, as though someone was pacing the floor. Slowly, she blinked awake and was greeted by the sight of an unfamiliar canopy. She tried to shift herself to a seated position but the twinge in her neck made her hiss.

In seconds, concerned sea-blue eyes were peering at her. Not ice blue. And all of a sudden everything came rushing back to her. Flashes of ice-blue eyes in golden light, and golden eyes in silver light. Images of bodies, blood, and sharp jaws. Of love and loss and betrayal. She closed her eyes against the agony in her chest and silent tears fell down her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Hermione was not sure who she was apologising to, but blinks of cornflower blue eyes and red hair came to her suddenly. “I am so, so sorry.”

Tears ran silently down her face and dripped into her hair until she felt a weight beside her on the bed and warm fingertips stroke her cheek, “Come, little lioness,” Klaus’s voice was gentler than she had ever known it to be. “Where is your roar?”

Hermione’s chocolate brown eyes opened to find his chin raised. His gaze had lost the initial concern it had, instead looking much like the warrior she had read about.

“I have no fight left,” she said, mournfully.

“Then you must find it,” he implored.

“How could I have been so stupid?”

“We have all been betrayed by those close to us. And yet, still, we allow ourselves to repeat the mistake.”

“Trust is not a mistake.” Hermione frowned. “I cannot believe that. If I did, I would not be here.”

“Foolish,” Klaus hissed. His lips tilted in satisfaction, “Luckily for you, my lack of trust in the one who betrayed you has led to your return.” At Hermione’s puzzled expression Klaus quirked an eyebrow. “Did you really think my dear sister gave you that talisman about your neck without me first asking her to create it?”

“But… Why would you do that?”

Klaus shrugged. “I like to have powerful witches in my debt,” he smirked, “and you, my dear, are a powerful witch indeed. Not to mention that your companion on your last visit was rather suspicious in her nighttime activities.”

Hermione shuffled, attempting to sit up in bed. Her attention not leaving the man in front of her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, little lioness, it seems your wolf was more of a snake than you thought,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said. She could not help but find the ex-Slytherin’s comparison to a snake a little ironic.

“It seemed that when she thought the house was sleeping she had a habit of going to the crypt to check on the progress you were making with Freya. Elijah followed her one night to see that she was reading your notes. I, too, saw her sneaking to inspect your advancement in your spellwork. That was when I decided to ask my sister to create something that would bring you here if you were ever in danger.”

Hermione looked at Klaus in a new light, “You did that for me?”

The fair-haired man shrugged again, “Like I say, you now owe me your life, it seems. I like to collect favours, you never know when you may be in need of one. You are not the only one with powerful enemies, little lioness.”

Hermione considered this. From what she understood of the Mikaelsons, they were not short of adversaries, especially since the birth of Hope. Suddenly she felt guilty, “You may have a few more now,” she sighed. “Tracey won’t let me get away that easily.”

“In that case,” Klaus said, a menacing grin spreading across his face, “it’s war.”

* * *

The anticipation was the worst part. Hermione had always hated the waiting game that came before an attack. She had expected Tracey and her newly formed pack to follow her to New Orleans immediately, but it seemed that they had decided to regroup.

Hermione was banned from leaving the compound by both Klaus and Freya.

“You may be powerful,” Klaus had said, “but we cannot risk you out there.”

And so Hermione was left to her own devices, studying the various Grimoires in the family’s possession. Daily, Freya worked with her to build her strength in wandless magic. She was fascinated by the way that Pagan witches of the Americas drew on the earth to gain power. She had always been taught that the kind of magic that the Mikaelson sister practised was dark, but Hermione was coming to realise that it was grey at best. With her mind opened to a new form of magic, she was able to develop skills and spells in a way she never had before. When she was not with Freya, she often sat in contemplative silence with Elijah. The elder Mikaelson brother was a man of few words, but Hermione found his presence eerily familiar and comforting.

What had surprised her most over the few weeks she had spent in the French Quarter, however, was the companionship she found in Klaus. The man was an anomaly. Hermione had never met anyone like him and not just because he was the Original Hybrid. It was clear from his actions that he was fiercely loyal to his family, but from the way they moved around each other while they were all in the Abattoir he kept them at arm's length. The intense loneliness that rolled off the man was heartbreaking. And yet, despite all his bravado, he was one of the few people that would talk to her with any regularity. Hermione was not sure if it was because he recognised that she, too, felt alone. That she was lost in a world she did not understand and fighting yet another war she did not want.

One evening with the waning moon high in the sky, around four weeks into her stay, something changed. Hermione sat on one of the plush sofas in the atrium, legs tucked beneath her, Esther’s grimoire on her lap. She absently twirled a candle in the air wandlessly.

“I see you’re practising what my sister has been teaching you,” Klaus drawled. Hermione did not break her concentration on the candle as she looked up.

“Any word?” It was the first question that she asked every time they spoke.

Klaus took a seat beside Hermione on the sofa, “Yes,” he said. “It seems our friends in the Bayou have made some new acquaintances. It is likely that your little friend may have promised to help the more… antagonistic… of the pack to help regain the city.”

Hermione nodded. They had expected that. While there was a truce between the Mikaelsons and the Crescent Pack due to the marriage between Hayley and Jackson, it was a tentative one. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologise, little lion. The wolves were not going to stay away for long.”

“But this is not your war to fight,” she sighed. “I brought your family into this. I should have known that trying to defeat monsters with monsters would not work out in the end.”

“We all make mistakes when it comes to defending the ones we care for most. Your errors are only human.”

Hermione’s lips twitched. “I suppose,” she studied him then. He was looking at her curiously. There was a softness around the edges of his eyes that she had only seen when he talked of a bartender in the city.

“You are a surprising woman, Hermione,” he said. Her heart leapt to her throat. It was rare that he ever used her name, often simply referring to her as little lioness or witch when he addressed her.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. You do not fear me.”

“Should I?”

“Most do.”

“I’m not most. I stared down villains since the age of sixteen, it takes a lot to scare me.”

Klaus’s deep blue eyes darted to the scar across her neck from Bellatrix’s blade and the raised silvery skin where Dolahov’s curse had hit her two decades before. “Yes, I suppose that must be true.”

“I have seen pure evil, Klaus Mikaelson, and you are not it,” she said softly. “There is humanity in you. Humanity that those creatures did not possess.”

“Did your wolf have humanity?”

Hermione contemplated this for a moment, “I thought she did, but now I’m not so sure.”

Klaus reached for the puckered, pink bite mark at her neck, fingers tracing it lightly. “Deception often leaves scars.”

Hermione held his gaze, “Yes,” she breathed.

The next morning, when she awoke wrapped in strong arms and white cotton sheets, she realised there was something new for her to fight for.

* * *

It was broad daylight when they arrived. As though they wanted the world to see that they claimed New Orleans as their own. As expected, Tracey’s hybrid pack was backed by the wolves of the Bayou. The Mikaelsons, in turn, had gathered as many allies as they could muster against the attack. Marcel and his vampires had joined forces with them to stamp out the werewolf rebellion.

Hermione was duelling with a hybrid that she recognised as Penelope Clearwater, staving her off with spell after spell. She quickly found herself backed into a corner, unable to kill the creatures, merely to slow them down.

“Go for the head!” Freya yelled at Hermione over her shoulder. The other witch was struggling to maintain a shield against a New Orleans werewolf.

“ _Sectumsempra_ ,” Hermione shouted, aiming her wand at Penelope. The spell sliced straight through her neck causing her head to roll from her shoulders. Hermione felt the warm splatter of blood on her face as the body collapsed. Instantly she turned on the spot, pointing her wand at the werewolf Freya was fighting and cast a blasting hex at it.

“Thanks,” the blonde woman said.

Together, the witches surged forward. Freya shielding while Hermione sliced through their opponents. They were soon in the chaotic melee of battle. Hermione was sticky with blood and sweat, hoping that it would soon end.

That was when she heard the chilling laugh she had tried to banish from her mind over the last few weeks. “Do you really think you can defeat us?” she taunted. “I have done the thing that even _you_ could never do. I have a pack of hybrids by my side and together we will eradicate everyone who refuses to join us.”

Hermione spun around to see the dark-haired woman facing off against Klaus. She was flanked by Gregory Goyle and a man she did not recognise. 

“Really,” Klaus mocked, “I have faced worse than you. Your numbers have been cut in half in just one day, how do you think you will survive beyond tomorrow.”

Hermione watched as Tracey sniffed the air, her icy blue eyes shifting gold for a moment, “She didn’t waste any time, did she,” she sneered. “Should have expected it from someone like _her_.” Her pale features twisted into a leer, “Tell me, does she make those little sighs like she did for me when you-”

“I would choose your next words very carefully if I were you,” Klaus hissed.

“Hit a nerve? Have I found a weakness in the _great_ Klaus Mikaelson?”

“Enough!” Klaus yelled. “I am tired of these games, wolf.”

Behind her, Hermione heard Freya chanting a spell she did not recognise. “ _Forvist skapning, forvist å være, forvist ulv_ ,” the Pagan witch’s voice was low and focused, “ _forvist skapning, forvist å være, forvist ulv_.”

Glancing over her shoulder Hermione saw that Freya’s hands were glowing, an energy throbbing at her fingertips. She was so mesmerised by the strength of the other woman’s magic that she did not see the werewolf until it was too late. Blood poured from the older woman’s mouth as her heart was pulled through her ribcage from behind.

The bloodcurdling scream that ripped from Hermione’s throat at seeing her new friend collapse to the floor echoed around the walls of the Abattoir. In an instant, Hermione saw Elijah behind the offending monster and in a swift movement had snapped its neck. The calm vampire turned his deep brown eyes on Hermione and she knew what was expected of her. 

Blinking away her tears, Hermione began to repeat the incantation that she had heard Freya insight only moments before. She was overwhelmed by the raw power running through her veins. It was like electricity, similar to how accidental magic had felt when she was young. She was overwhelmed with the charged magic and suddenly understood why it was so frowned upon in the Wizarding World. It gave her a high unlike any she had ever experienced before. Her blood rushed in her ears, singing in her veins. 

“Hermione!” Elijah yelled. Hermione’s head whipped around to see a hybrid charging toward her. Instinctively, she threw her hands out to defend herself. Hermione watched, transfixed, as the excess magic she had gathered in her palms pulsed around her. Wave by wave, the bodies of the attacking hybrids collapsed to the ground, blood leaking from the corners of their eyes. The remaining werewolves scattered, knowing that the struggle was lost. None were willing to face the wrath of the Mikaelsons.

Hermione surveyed the carnage that remained, tracking her gaze around the atrium. Two people remained standing in the massacre. Tracey’s ice blue eyes darted around in panic at her fallen pack.

“You think that I would let hybrids that I could not control exist?” Klaus sneered. “That I would not make a loophole in that little ritual from last year.” 

Hermione watched in fascination as the Original Hybrid faced off against Tracey. Blood painted his shirt as it dripped from his jaw. She was captivated by his intensity. That he could hold life in the palm of his hands and with the weight of a feather, the scales could tip for him to crush it between his fingers. He was simultaneously the most beautiful and most terrifying thing Hermione had ever seen.

“I can make more,” Tracey said, unsure now.

“Not without a powerful witch. Or my blood. I don’t imagine you have access to either of those things now.” Tracey looked over at Hermione in horror, suddenly realising how alone she was. “Now,” Klaus drawled. In the silvery light of the moon, his features morphed; teeth extending, eyes turning amber, nails lengthening as he rapidly closed in on her. “Meet your maker.”


End file.
